“You know it isn’t you that we distrust.  It is something stronger than you, or any of us.  Mary, be patient, just a little longer.  You want to be free, don’t you?”

She hid the glitter in her eyes, against his coat.  “Yes, of course.  Only don’t ask me to go to-day.  It excites me.  I want to be quiet.”

“Very well, and you promise—­”

“Yes, I’ll promise anything.  And if Esther stays I’ll be decent to her.  Though why you bother about her so much, I don’t see.  She is nothing to you.”

“She is very much to you,” sternly.

“Yes—­a spy!  Oh, well, don’t let’s quarrel.  Be sure to be back early for the supper party to-night.  Mr. Macnair and Annabel are invited.  You can bring them with you in the motor.  It is just as well Esther isn’t going.  There’ll be lots of little things to attend to.”

“That’s settled then.”  Knowing that further persuasion was useless, he kissed her and turned to quiet the eager children.

* * * * *

Almost she held her breath as she watched him go.  Her small hands twisted, a pulse beat visibly in her temple, her lips worked, she shook from head to foot.  Nevertheless she stood there, controlling herself, until the motor horn had honked its farewell to a chorus of children’s laughter.  Then, as one released from some desperate strain, she turned and fled to her room....

“Mother!” Esther came in slowly, unpinning her hat.  There was no answer to her call.  But she had not expected any.  In her sulky moods Mrs. Coombe often went for days without speaking to her step-daughter.  When the girl saw that she had gone to her room she was rather relieved than otherwise; it meant at least a peaceful afternoon.  Mary, in her room, was considered safe and all that Esther need do was to be ready in order to accompany her if she decided to go out.

She was not disappointed at missing the picnic.  It was getting rather hard to be gay.  And it would be nice to have everything ready when the party returned.

It was a quietly beautiful afternoon and as the girl went about her simple tasks she was not unhappy.  Already she was learning the great lesson which many more fortunate lovers miss, that the rarest fragrance of love lies in its bestowal.  That is why love is of all things most securely ours.

Once she called up to the blowing curtains of Mrs. Coombe’s window.

“Mother, won’t you come and help me with the flowers?” But no hand pushed the curtain aside, nor did she receive any answer.  Perhaps Mary was really asleep.  In that case she was sure to be amiable at supper time.

Everything was daintily ready and Esther had had time to slip on her prettiest frock when the “honk” of the returning motor brought a faint colour into her pale cheeks.

“Dear me, you’ve got quite a colour, Esther,” said Miss Annabel Macnair in a slightly injured voice.  She had come intending to tell Esther how badly she was looking and to recommend a tonic.